


Coming Home

by SereneCalamity



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Old Friends, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:59:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5583283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SereneCalamity/pseuds/SereneCalamity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a long road back, but Bucky was getting there. Stucky. OneShot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> I've recently fallen completely and utterly in love with the Stucky pairing, and I have no idea why I didn't initially! I've read about a hundred of these 'Bucky adjusting back to reality' and for some reason, I just don't tire of them. So I wrote my own. I hope you like it!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters...Unfortunately...Depressingly.

Steve Rogers had loved James 'Bucky' Barnes for as long as he could remember. They had been best friends since they were children, and Steve wasn't even sure at what age he realized that Bucky was the closest thing to family that he was ever going to have in this messed up world. He never knew his father and his mother, while she cared about him and he cared about her, she enjoyed going out and spending time with a bottle of vodka and a nameless man more than she did with him. He loved Bucky, and he was the only one that kept him going when life threw punches.

But he did remember the exact moment where he realized he was _in_ love with Bucky.

He was sixteen.

"Rogers!" Natasha Romanov shouted. "Get your head in the game!" Steve blinked as he came back to his senses, shaking his head as she saw an shower of bullets coming toward his head. He jerked his shield up and heard the bullets pinging and falling to the ground. He glared over at the red headed assassin.

"You call this a game?" He shouted back to her.

"She has a strange sense of humour!" Clint Barton called from his position behind a car that was shot up behind much recognition. The archer swung his body around and fired off another lot of arrows toward the genetically engineered army that was advancing on them. Steve looked upward to the sky where he could hear faint sounds of an engine coming closer and closer. Seconds later, it was bursting through the fog which had rolled out over the mountains as they had continued their fight into the early morning. Natasha looked up in relief, from where she had ducked behind a concrete wall, which was crumbling at the edges.

"Get us out of here, Maximoff," Steve growled into his comm and the female Maximoff shouted out her agreement. "Retreat!" Steve yelled toward the archer and the assassin, shooting one last look to where the enemy were coming closer to them, and the three of them began sprinting toward the side street. The army had been broken down to three groups, Tony Stark was dealing with one lot, Bruce Banner with the second, and they had been left with the last. He could hear Stark shouting that he was clear of his lot, and that he was keeping an eye on their green friend.

"You've got two minutes!" Maria Hill shouted to all of them through their comm unit. "Everything is in place, now _get out of there_!" The quinjet came into view, the ramp lowered as Wanda held it steady a couple hundred feet away from where the three Avengers were. The third of the army that they had been fighting were close behind them, shots bouncing off the ground at their feet and suddenly Natasha jerked forward.

"Shit, Nat!" Clint's steps faltered and Steve looked over his shoulder. Natasha was still running, but she was limping at there was blood dripping down her leg. Clint wrapped an arm around his partner and girlfriend, trying to rush her along, but they were falling steadily behind. Steve dropped back, bringing up the rear and holding his shield up in defence, to protect himself and his team members. Clint practically carried Natasha onto the jet, something that they weren't going to mention again later because Natasha lashed out when people mentioned her weaknesses. Steve followed them up, his hand slamming down on the button by the door, lifting the ramp up behind them as Wanda steered the quinjet into the early morning sun.

"Make sure there's a medic to meet us," Steve said into his comm, patching through to Maria.

"Is it serious?" She replied briskly.

"No, I don't think so," Steve said. "But we will still need one."

"Okay," Maria's face appeared on the screen in the cock pit next to where Wanda was driving. "You need to get a shuffle on, Maximoff," she stated. "You have twenty seconds before the bombs go off. You're still within the blast radius."

"Got it," Wanda nodded, the speed of the quinjet increasing. Steve looked over to where Natasha was sitting, her mouth twisted in pain and her hand clenching Clint's hard. Maybe he had told Maria a little too quickly that it wasn't serious, because the makeshift bandage that Clint had wrapped around her calf. The red head snorted when she saw him looking at her and attempted a smile.

"You know you should be more worried about yourself than me," she told him sassily. "You're the one who was day dreaming in the middle of the battlefield."

"I was _not_ day dreaming!" Steve protested.

"Dude, you were, like, ten million miles away," Clint agreed.

"I got distracted," Steve muttered. "For two seconds. Let's just...Let's just not go there, okay?" The pair exchanged looks and then shrugged. Steve leaned down to make sure the tourniquet around Natasha's leg and then headed to the other side of the quinjet and looked out the window. The blast in the forest was clear, and the jet shook slightly.

He had gotten distracted in the middle of the fight and that was unacceptable.

He was lucky that he was fighting alongside two of the most capable people he knew, or else they might have suffered a few more wounds than just a graze from a bullet.

His mind had wandered back to the lower basement level of the Avengers base, where Bucky was imprisoned. Officially, he was in 'rehab' but in reality, Bucky still couldn't be trusted just to be with himself. They had started by just keeping him in a room with only a bed and a table, but in a blind rage, he had split the table in half and thrown the wooden pieces around the room, until his arms and face were scratched and two of his knuckles were broken. He healed quickly, but he had proven that he was a risk to himself.

The doctors had found out, later on, that it hadn't just been any rage. It had a nightmare.

All the bad memories that the experiments had all suppressed were all starting to re-surface.

Sometimes it was okay, and Bucky and Steve actually managed to hold a stilted conversation, but as everything he had done over the past fifty or so years flooded back, Bucky found it harder and harder to speak; to accept what he had been forced to do. Bucky had always been the protector, the good, honest man who defended the weak and the helpless. Because of HYRDA, they had made him forget who he was and who he stood for, and twisted his mind.

"Get her to the med bay," Steve ordered as they landed outside the Avengers base. Clint nodded and followed after his girlfriend as she glared at the two medics who were standing by with a gurney. Steve softened the angry look from the Black Widow by giving the medics smiles and a nod as he passed. Sam Wilson was standing at the doorway leading into the base, and Steve paused as he reached him.

"What happened there?" Sam asked, jerking his head backward in the direction that Natasha and Clint had gone.

"Flesh wound, apparently nothing too serious," Steve replied. "Although it's not like she would say anything even if it was."

"True, true," Sam agreed. "Hey, uh, Helen and the other doctors wanted me to tell you that they think Barnes might be ready to move back upstairs."

"Really?! How soon can he do that? Do they think soon—now?!" Steve demanded and Sam let out a laugh.

"Whoah, dude, I don't know the details, okay?" Sam held out his hands, palm upwards. "But they want you to go down and talk to him first. It's been a few days since you've been away, and apparently things are actually going well."

"Thank God," Steve breathed. "It's already been six months. I hate the idea of him being locked up in there."

"You know it's for his protection, just as much as it is for everyone elses, right?" Sam reminded him, his tone gentle. Steve let out a sigh and rubbed his hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "Maybe you should get down there, yeah? You're the one that you gets through to him the most."

"Yeah, I'll just go change," Steve nodded, slapping his hand down once more on Sam's shoulder before heading into the base. He had an apartment, but it was just a little bit too...Nice. Expensive. He had let Natasha and Sharon Carter loose, and they had decked it out with a fancy grey and blue lounge suite, a plasma screen TV and a sound system. Sam had been right the first time they had met, saying that one of the problems with getting enough sleep is because the bed was far too soft. He had a room here at the base too, which was a simple bed, with a thin mattress, thin pillow and thin blanket. He honestly felt far more comfortable sleeping there than in his fancy apartment, so he had taken to keeping half of his closet here. When he was at home, he tended to sleep on the mattress, without a pillow and sometimes without a blanket. He showered and changed quickly, his damp hair slicked back, and practically ran for the elevator, taking it to the lower floor and smiling tightly when he saw Doctor Helen Cho. "Hey, Helen."

"Hello, Captain," Helen smiled at him. "Sam passed on the message?"

"He did," Steve nodded, his eyes drifting over Helen's shoulder to the hallway. Usually, he was patient and he was definitely always polite, but right now he just wanted to see Bucky. She smiled at him and stepped to the side, giving him room to walk past. "When is he going free?"

"He's not...He's not going free," Helen pursed her lips together, and Steve swallowed hard, feeling disappointment rush over him. From the moment Sam had given him the news, he had tried not to let his hopes get too high. It had sounded too good, all of sudden just letting Bucky out of the room and into the public. "We think that being in this holding room is too familiar to what he faced with HYDRA," Helen continued. Steve snorted. _Holding cell_. No. It was a cell.

"Well, I've been telling all of you that right from the beginning," he muttered.

"So we have another idea," Helen continued, as though he had never spoken. "We've spoken with Fury, and he agrees. Barnes on our side will be a valuable asset, and we already know from past events that the two of you are an unstoppable force when paired together. And given your history," she paused for a moment before nodding and finishing off her sentence. "We have decided that we will release him into your care."

"My—my _care_? What is that?"

"It means that your duties as Captain America are going to be limited for a while, so that you're able to spend more time with your friend," Helen said. "We think that it will be a good idea for you to be the one with him, reminding him of who he was, of who he can be; instead of a constant reminder about who he _is_."

It made sense.

In fact, it made _such_ perfect sense that it pissed Steve off that no-one—including himself—had thought about it earlier.

"And Fury signed off on this?" Steve double checked.

"Yes, absolutely," Helen nodded. "We wouldn't be having this discussion if I hadn't already cleared this." Steve took in a deep breath, telling himself once again that he needed to keep his hope squashed down, because Bucky was a long shot. He wasn't the man he had fallen in love with when he was younger, he was a completely different man. Steve knew his man, _his Bucky_ , was gone forever. "It's just on a trial basis, and there's going to be guards a few apartments down from your own, and we figure you can keep him at least mostly under control."

He just needed time to adjust, and a chance to remember without having all of the wrong things he had done over the past years thrown in his face.

"Is he coming home with me or is he being transported there?" Steve asked, glad that he kept his voice even.

"Well, you ride a motorcycle, right?" Helen raised an eyebrow. "I don't know if that's the best thing for him right now," she let out short laugh and Steve gave her a tight smile. "How about you be the man who goes in and tells him what's happening, and then walk him out to the truck? You can drive out first, get home and get your place ready for him. I'm sorry we didn't give you more notice, and if this is to fast for you then we can—"

"No, no!" Steve interrupted, shaking his head. "No, this is good. I'll go in and talk to him now." Helen gave her a smile and lead the way down the short hallway and swiped her card against the lock at the door. The sight of Bucky always took his breath away. He had thought he had lost his best friend, and now he was back. He was back and he was strapped to a bed with high intensity hand cuffs, his face covered in scruff and his hair longer than it had been when he had first seen him after all those years. "Hey, buddy," Steve said, swallowing hard as Bucky swung his eyes over to him.

"Hey, Steve," he croaked out, his lips attempting to tug upward but then pursing flat once again.

"So, they're letting you out of here," Steve smiled. "At least for now."

"Where am I going?" He asked, his voice still rough. The doctors had told Steve a while ago that Bucky only spoke to Steve. They asked him hundreds of questions and he didn't say a word, just glared at them and then closed his eyes, dropping his head back to the pillow. Steve never said it out loud, but he liked that. It meant that Bucky knew there was a tie between them, and it also made his voice all deep and rough, and _fuck_ , it sounded incredible.

"You're coming home with me," Steve announced. Bucky blinked up at him.

"I'm—I'm what?"

"You're coming home with me," Steve repeated. "They think it would be a good idea for you to come home with me."

"To your apartment?" Bucky asked.

"Yes," Steve was beginning to feel a little more nervous now. Bucky wasn't giving him any indication that he wanted this, that he wanted to come home with Steve, but he wasn't saying that he was opposed to the idea. Bucky swallowed hard, his eyes dropping to where his hands were cuffed to the sides of the bed.

"Does that mean you'll take the cuffs off?" He asked, a tiny upturn of his mouth making Steve's heart lift.

"Yeah, buddy. We can take the cuffs off."

* * *

Bucky walked into the apartment stiffly, looking around. There were SHIELD agents on either side of the door outside, both with large guns in their hands. Steve looked between his friend and the agents, and then shook his head.

"Uh, we're fine from here," he said. "Thank you."

"Understood, Captain," the first agent said. "We will be just down the hall." They closed the door and Steve could hear them stalking away. Bucky flinched at the sound of the door closing hard, but other than that, he didn't move. Steve didn't crowd him, heading back into his apartment, toward the kitchen. He knew how much he hated it when everyone had stood around him, watching him, as though waiting for him to snap. And that was when he had all his wits about him. Bucky only had snippets of his memory, and he didn't properly remember who he was, which would make it even worse for him.

"Dinner?" Came a gruff voice from behind him, and Steve half turned to see Bucky standing there, watching him.

"Yeah," Steve replied. "Uh, I'm better at cooking now. And the food is just generally better. You don't have to boil everything now," he let out a soft snort. Bucky didn't respond for a long moment, so Steve focussed on tossing the stir fry. He tipped in the sliced pieces of carrots and broccoli and shifted the colourful mix around.

"You left the pasta boiling for so long that the water evaporated and they got stuck to each other and burnt to the bottom of the pot," he suddenly said. Steve felt his whole body jerk, his hands freezing. "We were at your place, and you got distracted, and you forgot about the pasta." Steve sucked in a deep breath, not wanting to spin around and jump in joy and freak Bucky out. He swallowed and managed to shuffle the stir fry around for a few more minutes before turning around awkwardly, and looking over at Bucky.

"Do you remember why I got distracted?" He asked. Bucky was chewing down on his lower lip, his gorgeous red mouth plump from the way he had been sucking and biting on the ride over here. He still remembered the day like it was yesterday; Bucky's teeth brushing over his collarbone, his hand travelling down his once bony body and resting on his hip. Steve wasn't sure if he was going to get an answer, and he was about to turn back to the pan, when Bucky nodded once.

"Yes," he stated softly.

* * *

That night, Steve was laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. His pillows were on the ground so that his head was flat on the mattress, and he only had the sheet pulled up to his waist. Bucky hadn't talked for the rest of the evening, but that was okay. The short exchange in the kitchen had been enough. They had then eaten in the lounge, with the TV on. Bucky stared blankly at the TV, shovelling food into his mouth, and drinking loudly from the glass of juice he had by his elbow. Around eleven, Steve had said that he was heading off to bed. He told his friend where the bathroom was and where the towels and blankets were and then had left him in peace.

A couple of minutes later, he heard the shower turn on behind the wall by his head. There was a clang, the sound of metal hitting the vanity top, and Steve wondered what Bucky was doing. He listened to the sound of the shower running for almost half an hour before it turned off.

And now he was listening to the sounds of Bucky's grunts and moans from the lounge.

He knew those noises well.

He had listened to them for a long time before he had fallen into the icy waters, and he knew that he made them himself now.

Bucky was having a nightmare.

Steve swallowed hard, clenching his fingers around the sheet, forcing himself not to go out there and face his friend. Bucky had always been the one to comfort him, and even when they were in the camps, getting just a few hours sleep before they needed to ship out in the morning, and it was Bucky who was having the nightmares, Steve didn't wake him. Sometimes it would just take Steve being close to him, resting a hand on his arm, or brushing his fingers through his hair, and then Bucky would settle down.

But Steve was pretty sure that that wouldn't work anymore.

If anything, Bucky might wake in a panic and lash out, and that wasn't what they needed.

So he stayed in his room, not getting a drop of sleep all night.

* * *

Weeks went by, and Helen's idea was working. It wasn't completely perfect, as to be expected, but the change was clear. Bucky was still having nightmares, and he still twitched at any sudden movements or noises, but he was remembering things, and occasionally, he looked as though he was going to smile. _Almost_.

Steve was happy with that.

"So?" Natasha asked. "How's your little rehab project going?"

"Does everyone know about that?" Steve replied with a sigh, running his hand through his sweaty hair.

"Well, it's kind of hard to keep secrets from a spy and also from a guy who spends half his life in the ceiling and on the roof," she shrugged. There was a shout from the cockpit and Steve looked forward, eyes narrow as he saw they were no longer in the clouds, and coming down to land. He hadn't been on too many missions, and despite enjoying the time he was spending with his best friend, he was getting a little stir crazy. Maria had called and asked if he wanted to go and he had jumped at the opportunity. Bucky had said he didn't mind going back to the base and using the gym until he got back. Steve had tried to tell him that he wasn't sure when he would be getting back, but Bucky had just shrugged. "So?" Natasha tilted her head to the side.

"It's going fine," Steve answered, not sounding too keen on talking about it. But Natasha's eyes were never leaving his face and he knew that there was no ducking out of the subject before giving her at least some semblance of an answer. "He's getting better," he stated. "The nightmares are still there, and he doesn't really trust anyone, but I think that he trusts me."

"That's good," Natasha nodded. "It can't be at all easy coming back from something like that. I mean, I know Clint had a hard enough time after what Loki but him through and that was only a couple of days," she sighed. "Sometimes he still freaks out a little. But you and Bucky have history, and that will make things easier for him to anchor to. Does he remember you? And everything you've been through?"

"He remembers bits and pieces," Steve shrugged. "I don't want to push him."

"Captain!" Clint shouted from where he was sitting in the drivers seat of the quinjet. "We're setting down!" Steve nodded and rolled his shoulders.

"You ready?" Steve asked, looking over at Natasha.

"Of course," she smirked at him. "You going to zone out on me this time?"

"One time, Nat," he rolled his eyes. "One time."

"She's like an elephant!" Clint jutted into their conversation from where he was sitting. "She never forgets." Natasha looked forward to her boyfriend, eyebrows raised and he winced. "But a very cute elephant."

"And on that happy note..." Steve smacked the button to lower the ramp, cold night air rushing into the quinjet. "We're off!"

* * *

"You baked?" Steve blinked at Bucky, who was standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking a little out of place with flour and sugar on his metal arm and a smear of the white powder over his cheekbone. "How long have you been in here?" He had only just gotten back from his mission and been debriefed, and he had been gone a lot longer than he expected, almost a full night. He was prepared to pick Bucky up and then go home to have breakfast and then crash in bed. He hadn't been prepared for the guards to say that Bucky had requested to go back home, and find him in the kitchen with the smell of cinnamon flooding the apartment.

"Is that okay?" Bucky looked hesitant, swallowing hard, his eyes flickering between his face and then down to the dirty dishes in the sink.

"You're kidding, right?" Steve smiled easily at him. "Of course it's okay!" There was a ghost of a smile on Bucky's mouth before he ducked his head, and turned back to the sink. The sink was already filled with hot soapy water, and he started washing the dishes. "Hey, no, it's fine, I can do that. You've already done enough in here," he said as came over to where Bucky was standing.

"No, I've got it," Bucky said in his low voice.

"Bucky, it's fine," Steve attempted to take the scrubbing brush from him but Bucky moved it out of his grip.

"I've got it," Bucky said again.

"Bucky—"

"I said I've _got it_!" Bucky repeated, his voice louder now, and spinning his head so that he was looking at Steve. Steve froze at the look in his friends face, his eyes looked narrow and angry. He didn't want to move and trigger anything, so he just stayed still, holding his breath. Bucky's eyes were still dark as he breathed heavily and looked at Steve. His eyes were ever moving; dropping down to his mouth, skimming over his cheeks, resting back on his mouth and then falling to the hand that was still resting on the brim of the sink, where he had been reaching for brush.

And then Bucky lunged forward, his mouth closing over Steve's and sending a shock through the blonde. It was only a brief brush of their lips, and then Bucky was pulling back, his eyes wide as he stared back at Steve. Steve's mouth was still pursed slightly, his expression completely confused. Bucky swallowed visibly and he looked down at the dishes that were soaking in the sink.

"I've got this," Bucky stated, under his breath this time as he quickly turned back around started scrubbing the dishes harder than necessary. He was actually pretty sure that he felt a break in the plate that he was holding underwater, but he didn't pull it out because he didn't want Steve to see.

Steve took a few long beats before turning around and heading out of the room, the shower turning on a couple of seconds later.

When he came back, almost twenty minutes later, Bucky was pulling the hot glass dish out of the oven and Steve did a double take when he saw what was inside. The uncomfortable feeling he had felt since leaving the kitchen was quickly forgotten when he saw the apple crumble that Bucky was holding, looking golden and cooked to perfection.

"You made apple crumble?" Steve asked. Bucky looked caught out all of a sudden, looking down at the crumble in his hands and then back up at Steve.

"I thought...I thought that was your favourite?" He said hesitantly.

"It _is_ ," Steve said as he stepped forward. "It is my favourite. You remember that?" Bucky gave one, short nod. "That's amazing...You're remembering on your own? I don't think I've said anything at all about this! Are you remembering anything else? Did you—" Steve noticed the look on Bucky's, almost a trapped expression, and he gave him a sheepish smile. "Uh, sorry. Too much." Bucky gave him a tight smile and shook his head.

"No, it's okay," he said. "Um," he looked back down at the dish in his hands. "Do you want milk with it?"

"I have ice cream," Steve suggested. "We've been out all night, so it's not really like we're having ice cream for breakfast. More like a late dinner?" Bucky nodded, moving over to the table and putting down the hot dish on one of the wooden place mats. The two moved around each other easily, knowing or remembering each others patterns as they got out spoons and bowls. They sat down on opposite sides of the table, Bucky dishing up bowls of apple and the crumbled topping and Steve spooning out healthy amounts of ice cream.

The way they ate was different now.

Steve took his time, enjoying the food, while Bucky shovelled it into his mouth as though he was afraid that someone was going to take it away from him. It was something that Steve was trying to break him away from, but things like that weren't just going to happen overnight.

"You still make the best apple crumble I ever tasted," Steve murmured as they finished.

"These apples are a lot better than the ones we used to get from the corner mart," Bucky replied in a short voice. Steve's eyes flashed open.

"You remember—" he forced himself to stop, not wanting to push Bucky. Two amazing things had already happened in one morning, two things that were going to hold him over. "I'll finish up the dishes, since you made the food." He was worried Bucky was going to argue, but he just nodded, and let Steve take his plate away from in front of him.

The man formerly known as the Winter Soldier took in a deep breath as he heard Steve moving around in the kitchen. He remembered most things—maybe almost everything. It came to him in the night, in the middle of harsh memories of things that he had been forced to do, and sometimes it came to him when he was awake, and next to Steve. There was nothing he could do to erase the bad he had done over the past seventy years, there was no way a normal person could just forgive him for that, but the look that Steve gave him, told him what he already knew.

That his Stevie had already forgiven him.

Somehow.

 _For everything_.

When Steve had asked him on his first night at his apartment if he remembered why he had forgotten about the pot on the stove, he did. He did vividly. He hadn't before it was mentioned, but as so soon as he had said it, the whole scene came back as vividly as if it had happened just yesterday.

It was just after Steve's mother had died, and Steve was in the house alone. Bucky had come over for dinner and Steve was trying his best to concentrate, but he was still distraught. Bucky hated seeing Steve in pain, and he hated that there was nothing he could do nothing about. There was nothing he could do to stop the pain, but he could provide a distraction from it, at least for a little while. Steve was boiling a pot when Bucky came up behind him, resting his hand on the waist of the smaller man. He started by kissing his neck, pretty much the same way it always started, and then he turned him around and their lips met. Despite how small Steve was next to Bucky, he gave as good as he got, pushing on his friends shoulders until they were in the lounge, falling down onto the couch, their clothes littering the clothes.

"Bucky?" Steve asked quietly from the doorway, and Bucky realized that he had been stone still for a couple of minutes now. "Bucky, is everything okay?"

"I'm fine," Bucky said shortly as he got up from the table.

Things were definitely different now.

Bucky could vaguely remember stolen kisses at the camp, after Steve had gone through his change to become Captain America. There was even one time that he dreamed about being behind the armoury, his hand down the Steve's pants. It had been quick and hushed, given the relationship they were holding wasn't one that was accepted by society at that time. When he woke up, he knew that it wasn't just a dream, and it was something that had actually happened. He could still feel the heat of Steve's skin in his hand as though it had just happened.

"I always loved you," Bucky grunted, looking underneath his lashes and the long hair that was falling over his face, across at Steve. "Even when I had nothing, I had you." Steve knew exactly how he felt.

He felt the same way.

"So you remember?" Steve asked quietly. Bucky nodded once. "You remember everything?" He shrugged at that.

"I remember you were a total idiot, coming in to save me when everyone else had given up," Bucky said pointedly and Steve gave him a guilty look. "I remember you used to draw me, and get angry when I moved." Steve's eyes widened slightly at that memory. "And I remember that I loved you." The blonde in the doorway was tense, his eyes on Bucky's face, not wanting to say something that would trigger him or break the moment. "And I _know_ that I love you now," he swallowed hard. A silence stretched out between them, and Steve realized that Bucky was waiting for a response.

"You're an idiot if you think I don't love you too," he murmured. Bucky's face cleared and there was an actual smile on his face—a small one, but a sincere one—that reached his eyes. The two men stood like for a moment, before Steve took the first step, deciding that he needed to try, and that Bucky would undoubtedly push him away if he was out of his comfort zone.

He put his hands gently on Bucky's shoulders and leaned in, briefly brushing his lips over the brunette's. Bucky stiffened at the contact, but a moment later, he was returning the pressure, his flesh hand going to rest on Steve's hip. Steve didn't kiss him for any longer than a seconds, and then he pulled back and rested his forehead against his best friends. Bucky's eyes were closed, and his whole body was relaxed, for maybe the first time since he came back into Steve's life.

When he opened his eyes, Steve was still right there, and Bucky knew for a fact, he wasn't going anywhere.

Stevie was always going to be there for him, and Buck was never going to let him go again.

He was home.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think, pretties. I'm so absolutely in love with these two, and I want you to tell me that you do to :) xx


End file.
